


The First Step

by ChillieBean



Series: Be Here Now [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Angst, Post-Dragons (Overwatch)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 07:09:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18256304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillieBean/pseuds/ChillieBean
Summary: Genji left a note, slipped under the door of Hanzo's hotel room with a contact number and the words:when you are ready. Hanzo placed it on the counter, choosing to ignore it. As the night progressed, as he lost his inhibitions from fatigue and alcohol, he almost destroyed it.That was the tipping point, the crossroads where he could take two paths. He could destroy the note and forget about it, about Genji, deny his existence and keep living with the thought that his brother is dead. Or, he could embrace the fact that Genjiisalive, that he has taken the first step and reached out.





	The First Step

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was for a zine but it got cancelled. 
> 
> C'est la vie.

Hanzo rests one hand on top of the other, resisting the urge to bounce his leg or tap his fingers on the table. He can hear his mother’s words echoing in his mind, warning him against such activities: _Do you want people to see that you lack self-control?_ It took years, but he finally learned to control the unconscious habit.  

He huffs a sardonic laugh. It has been years since he had such thoughts.

Though he supposes that it is not outside the realms of disbelief that he is thinking about this. Seeing Genji—his brother whom he thought _dead_ —yesterday has stirred up many emotions, resulting in a sleepless night, the returning of the guilt he spent so long burying, and turning to alcohol when he had his impulses under control for so long.

Knowing that he could enter a self-destructive spiral, knowing that turning his back on his brother would make things worse, Hanzo decided to reach out. Genji left a note, slipped under the door of his hotel room with a contact number and the words: _when you are ready_. Hanzo placed it on the counter, choosing to ignore it. As the night progressed, as he lost his inhibitions from fatigue and alcohol, he almost destroyed it.

That was the tipping point, the crossroads where he could take two paths. He could destroy the note and forget about it, about Genji, deny his existence and keep living with the thought that his brother is dead. Or, he could embrace the fact that Genji _is_ alive, that he has taken the first step and reached out.

After sending his message to Genji, it almost felt like a weight was lifted off Hanzo’s shoulders. It opened a part of him he tried to keep buried, emotions and memories hidden under the guilt of what he did. It left behind questions—a curiosity of what happened and what Genji's life has been like since then.

A longing to see him again with his own two eyes, to touch him with his own two hands.

Inhaling and exhaling slowly, Hanzo looks around the little French-inspired café, wondering if Genji is watching from afar. The café is empty, save for the couple sitting two tables over, and the young family in the corner.

The couple, a man and woman, are both buried in their tablets. Empty plates covered in crumbs sit off to the side, a shared pot of tea sits in the middle. He notes the prosthetic hand on the man, and when Hanzo looks back at the woman, he catches her gaze—piercing blue eyes meet his.

Hanzo bows his head in friendly greeting before looking at his clasped hands. He should have guessed that a café like this would have been popular with Western tourists. And honestly, he would be in a more discrete place if he were not craving sweets to battle his hangover.

His head positively throbs in response, his nausea spiking again. Pressing his fingers to his temple and massaging in vain to ease the pain, Hanzo closes his eyes. He should have taken aspirin before coming to this meeting.

“Hanzo.”

Hanzo looks up, seeing Genji standing at the table. Aside from his mask, he is not in his armour, instead dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans. He looks more like the Genji he used to know.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Hanzo gestures to the seat opposite him with an outstretched hand.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Genji says diplomatically as he takes a seat. “Though to be honest, I was not expecting it to be so soon.”

“I…” Hanzo stares at Genji, analysing his mask. Why would he wear the mask absent the rest of his armour? “I had to see you," he says, pushing through. "Sooner rather than later.”

Hanzo turns his attention to Genji’s hands, noticing one is mechanical and the other flesh and blood, and he wonders just how much of Genji still remains. He meets the blank gaze of the visor again, a line of green looking back at him, and finds he needs to look away, the pain of looking at what his brother has become—what he _did_  to Genji with his own two hands—is too much to bear.

Swallowing down another wave of nausea, Hanzo picks up the teapot, glancing at Genji. Genji responds with a nod, and Hanzo pours the tea.

“Thank you,” Genji says. He reaches up to his faceplate. “Do you mind…”

Hanzo takes a breath and holds it. He studies the armour for as long as he can without the guilt eating away at him, which is not more than a few seconds. “Not at all,” he says, exhaling. “I wish to have a conversation with you, not your armour.”

With a nod, Genji reaches behind his head, unfastening the clips and releasing the faceplate with a hiss. He places that on the table before removing the armour covering his mouth too, followed by the forehead protector, allowing Hanzo to see his entire face. Much of it is still armoured—or perhaps it is synthetic skin—over his ears, down his cheeks and under his chin. He can see wisps of black hair poking from underneath the cap on his head, and wonders if that can be removed too.

Resisting the urge to wring his hands together, laying them flat on his thighs instead, Hanzo analyses the pale, twisted scars on Genji’s face. He _deserves_ to see the damage he did since Genji must look and live with them every single day of his life.

He looks at Genji’s eyes. Now in the daylight, Hanzo can see that they are not the dark brown from ten years ago, but now a softer, almost artificial reddish-brown.

And when Hanzo sees the small smile on Genji’s lips, he cannot help but smile back.

“I had thought you dead for ten years,” Hanzo breathes. “What happened?”

“I was saved,” Genji says, picking up his cup. “Healed. Repaired.” He holds out his mechanical hand, flexing his fingers.

“By who?”

Genji takes a sip of tea, placing his cup on the table. He looks into it, a subtle frown teasing his face.

Hanzo gives him a moment, taking a sip of his own tea. He hopes that Genji is truthful, or does not dismiss the question. If there is something Hanzo wants, if they are to indeed repair their relationship, it is the complete truth from Genji. No secrets, no lies. That is what caused the initial fractures in the first place. 

“Overwatch,” Genji says eventually, meeting Hanzo’s gaze.

Hanzo leans back in his seat, taps at the table with his index finger. Now he understands Genji’s reluctance—Overwatch was a thorn in his side when he was kumichō, and he suspected they had eyes on them at the time of the incident. _Eyes_ , he did not think they were close enough to physically save Genji.

“I did not realise they were that close,” Hanzo responds.

“You suspected there was a mole.”

Hanzo’s heart sinks. “You…”

“No.”

Hanzo inhales deeply, reaching for his cup as he exhales, taking a long sip of tea. Oh, how he wishes he had alcohol right now. He never discovered who in his ranks was leaking information to Overwatch. While the elders were whispering in his ear that it was Genji, he never truly believed it, even _after_ the incident.

Finishing what is left in his cup, he gets the attention of the person behind the counter, pointing to the teapot to ask for more tea. Tea will have to do absent alcohol. He turns his attention back to Genji, and he knows that look, that hard, defiant Shimada stare—Genji is not lying about the statement.

And Hanzo believes him. Whether true or not, it is in the past. He gives Genji a curt nod and takes a breath, a moment to collect his thoughts to get back on topic.

“Why reach out now, after all these years?” Hanzo asks.

Genji huffs a laugh, slumping in his seat slightly. “It took a long time to accept what happened,” he says quietly, looking into his tea. “Overwatch saved me, and in return, I joined them. Fought alongside some good people who helped me come to terms with my new body. Then, once I had paid my dues, I focused on fixing my mind, my soul. I travelled the world, made the decision to come here on the anniversary to heal, and…” he looks up at Hanzo. “I saw you.”

_I know you come here every year, on the same day._

“That is how you knew,” Hanzo murmurs.

Genji nods. “I saw you that year, the next year, the one after, and yesterday. Four years, now. I know you come back to Hanamura, stay for the day, leave the next morning, and do not return until the following year.”

“Why did you not confront me earlier?”

“If I did, I would have stopped at nothing before I killed you, Hanzo.” Genji takes a breath, staring into his cup again. “When I first saw you, I followed you. All around the world. Staying in the distance. Watching as assassin after assassin was sent, watching as you defeated each and every one of them.” He meets Hanzo’s eyes. “While you always bested me when we were younger, it is something I _know_ I can do now, and at the very least you deserved an honourable death. Something I would not have given you before now.”

“Honour resides in one’s actions,” Hanzo says slowly, repeating Genji’s words from last night as he meets his gaze. “I am not deserving of honour, you of all people should know that.”

“You have to be true to yourself, Hanzo. I know that while this,” he rubs his cheeks with his hand, “was by your hand, it was not your motivations.”

“I let the people I trusted use me in a way that saw you harmed!” Hanzo's head pounds, the sound of everything bouncing on the table echos in his mind. He looks at his closed fist resting on the table before glancing around the café, catching the glimpse of the couple. The family in the corner of the room hurriedly pick up their things and leave. Embarrassment and shame rising through him, he bows his head in apology. 

Taking a breath and closing his eyes, laying his hands flat against the table, Hanzo quashes down the urge to leave, To find a liquor store and drown his sorrows like he did countless times in the days, weeks and years that followed those actions.

Like he did yesterday.

Meeting Genji’s eyes, Hanzo sighs. “I do not know how you can forgive me for what I have done,” he murmurs.

“It took time,” Genji replies, staring off in the distance with unfocused eyes. “Years,” he adds after a moment, smiling. “On my travels, before I saw you for the first time, I met a monk, an omnic of the Shambali.”

“Shambali…” Hanzo frowns. “Nepal?”

Genji nods. “It took some convincing, but I joined the monastery. Became a student under his tutelage. He helped me accept what had happened. While Overwatch fixed my body, he fixed my mind. It was by his insistence that I visit on the anniversary, and if he had not come with me, I would have attacked you all those years ago and given you the death you seek.” He pauses, clasps one hand over the other as he inhales and exhales slowly. Another Shimada trait—he is getting down to business. “I do not expect you to instantly forgive yourself. It will take time. Months, years maybe. But when you do, I want to be right beside you. I am healed, and now it is time for you to heal.”

Genji holds out his hand, and Hanzo stares at it. How can he forgive himself for what he has done? His brother—his baby brother he _mutilated_ —has not only forgiven him, but wants to help him heal?

Before him is another crossroads. One path leads to that self-destructive behaviour of past, telling himself he is undeserving of forgiveness. The other leads to a place where he can work _with_ Genji, work on forgiving himself.

When it is all said and done, if Genji is offering help, _should_ he turn it down?

He studies Genji's face, noting his hopeful eyes, his smile, before looking at his extended hand, flesh and blood and _ready_ for this next step. Exhaling slowly, Hanzo takes Genji’s hand, squeezing tight.

Genji smiles wider, and Hanzo nods, blinking back unexpected tears. The waitress _finally_ approaches with the new pot of tea, and Hanzo clears his throat, takes back his hand and thanks her as she pours it into the cups.

When she leaves, taking the empty teapot with her, he looks at the display cases. Not yet ready to confidently speak without sobbing, he looks at Genji and stands, approaching the desserts and placing a chocolate croissant, a matcha eclair and a strawberry cronut on the tray, opting for sweet instead of the savoury options.

“You have been drinking,” Genji says, amused, as he places savoury options on his tray.

“I thought you dead for ten years, of course I was going to drink,” Hanzo retorts. He winces; that came out harsher than he was intending.

“I hope you are not intoxicated now,” Genji says softly. “It is still morning, after all.”

Hanzo sideways glances at Genji, taking a breath and holding it to keep the frustration at bay. He does not know why he is bothered by this, by Genji showing genuine concern for his well-being. He supposes he has gone so long without someone looking out for him, that this is foreign. But as he has the thought that he is not deserving of Genji's concern, he realises he is falling into old habits, and Genji is not deserving of is anger.

“No,” Hanzo says, exhaling. “But I am suffering the effects of drinking after a long absence.”

“Hangover food,” Genji says with a nod. He places his hand on Hanzo’s shoulder. “There is no need to feel shame in relapsing. If the situations were reversed, I would have done the same thing.”

Hanzo only nods, approaching the counter to pay for his pastries. He points to Genji’s tray too, and despite his protest, Hanzo pays for his meal, too. “It is the least I can do.” The first of many, _many_ things he can do to repay Genji for what he has done.

They take a seat back at the table and eat in silence. After practically inhaling the eclair and the cronut in about two minutes, Hanzo finds himself picking at the croissant, tearing away little pieces and nibbling on them. He has gone ten years without speaking to Genji. He entered this café with a hundred questions, and now that he is in front of him, Hanzo does not know what to say.

“So, you know what I did in that time,” Genji says, breaking the silence, and Hanzo looks up, seeing Genji smile back. “What did you do?”

“Bounty hunting,” Hanzo answers. “Between surviving assassination attempts, of course.”

“That would have kept your skills sharp.”

“Indeed.”

There is a pause, and Hanzo’s mind goes blank again. He turns his attention to tearing away pieces of his croissant.

“Just that?” Genji asks, curious. “Did you meet anyone? Make any friends?”

“I have lived in solitude for ten years. I was—I _am_ —constantly moving. I have not settled down. I do not have a home to go back to.”

“You are homeless,” Genji states, his voice soft and carrying a hint of pity that Hanzo does not care for.

“I live in hotels,” Hanzo clarifies, tearing off another piece of croissant and eating it. “Bounty hunting is quite lucrative. I do not live on the streets.”

“Hanzo, I _saw_ the place you are staying at. You can barely call it a hotel.”

“It is a roof over my head. A place to sleep.” Truthfully, that is all it is. It is old, run down, and in dire need of a refurbishment. It does not stand out, though, so it is the perfect place for him to lay low.

Genji opens his mouth, taking a deep breath before holding it. He glances at the couple, expelling the air in a rush. “You remind me of someone. A friend. You two would get along well.”

Hanzo narrows his eyes, looking at the couple. The man gives a little wave of his prosthetic fingers, the woman a thin smile, and the reality comes crashing down like a ton of bricks. “They are with you.”

“Yep,” Genji says, smiling. “Two people I trust the absolute most, who have come here from Gibraltar to support me.”

“Gibraltar?” Hanzo leans back in his seat, chuckling to himself. “You are _still_ with Overwatch.”

“To be honest, I always will be.” Genji leans forward, clasping his hands on the table and looking at Hanzo with another one of those Shimada stares. “I did not say ‘the world is changing’ for no reason yesterday. You remember Talon?”

“How can I forget,” Hanzo mutters. “You know they not only bothered Father, but they also bothered me, too.”

“It seems something large is happening. Between the Second Omnic Crisis and Talon, it truly is time to pick a side, and Overwatch can use more people.” Genji pauses, searching Hanzo’s face. “Is that something you would be interested in?”

Hanzo takes a moment to consider the offer. He has shown no allegiance to anyone and vowed never to after leaving the clan. Overwatch… While a thorn in his side when he was kumichō, they _seemed_ resourceful, and if Genji is endorsing them, they must good people—Genji always was a good judge of character.

After this brief meeting with Genji, Hanzo does not think he can go back to a life ignoring his existence again. He owes it to Genji to repay this debt, to make up for ten years of missed opportunities.

He owes it to Genji to make amends and try to forgive himself.

“Yes,” Hanzo breathes, nodding. Genji smiles, and Hanzo smiles back. “It is the least I can do.”

“Good,” Genji replies. His eyes flick to his friends, before falling back to Hanzo. “Seeking you out was not our only mission here. We could use a person with your expertise.”

Hanzo raises an eyebrow, and Genji’s smile widens.

“Remember Rikimaru Ramen?”

**Author's Note:**

> The reasoning behind this fic (and the series inevitably) was to write Hanzo and Jesse as reasonable, decent human beings. Sure, they've both done some pretty nasty stuff in their pasts, but they're atoning for their transgressions. There are just too many fics out there where one or both is an asshole and honesty, it's tiresome.
> 
> Hanzo is trying to work things out. Jesse trusts Genji's decision to reach out. Angela is wary, I think she would need time despite trusting Genji also. But she's not about to be a dick to Hanzo against Genji's wishes. They all have respect for each other. 
> 
> And if you're wondering, Zenyatta is there too, just watching from the park across the street. This is an _Overwatch_ mission, after all. 
> 
> If you're interested in this and more, you can follow me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BeanChillie) Come say hi!


End file.
